


Multitasking

by hostilecrayon



Category: Fryler RPF
Genre: Clothing Kink, Fryler, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rutting, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostilecrayon/pseuds/hostilecrayon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred is trying to wash the dishes, but Tyler has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Multitasking

**Author's Note:**

> RPF PWP of two people I know. I made a joke about writing fic for them, and as it turned out, they thought that would be a fantastic idea, so here we are.

**Multitasking**

Fred is washing dishes when he feels warm lips press against the base of his neck, arms coming up to slide around his middle. He cocks an eyebrow that Tyler can’t see and says, “I’m a little busy, if you couldn’t tell.”

He feels the slight lift in Tyler’s lips against his skin as he smirks. “And?”

Tyler slips his hands up under the hem of Fred’s shirt, smoothing his palms across his stomach. Fred tries to nudge him back with his elbows, which rather predictably does nothing, but he’s up to his forearms in soapy water and doing anything more would just make a mess. “Can’t you wait? I’m almost finished.”

“So finish then,” Tyler says, amusement coloring his voice. “If you can.”

Fred almost drops the plate in his hands when he feels Tyler undoing his pants.

“Do you mind?” Fred says, but the hitch in his breath betrays him and Tyler just chuckles.

“Not at all.” Tyler’s tongue darts up the curve of Fred’s neck, tracing along the shell of his ear, teeth grazing over the metal rings there. Deft hands push his pants down his hips enough to free his cock, fingers wrapping firmly at the base, teeth nipping at his neck, and Fred groans, leaning into Tyler, gripping the plate so tightly it turns his knuckles white. “Any tighter and you’ll break it,” Tyler says, the breath ghosting across his skin making him shiver.

“Yes, well, if you weren’t such a randy school girl trying to get laid before your father gets home, I might actually be able to get something done.”

“I wouldn’t be such a school girl if you weren’t so hot. Just think of it as multitasking.” Tyler runs his fingers up Fred’s shaft, grinding his own erection against his ass, groaning low in his throat. Plate forgotten, Fred rocks back into Tyler, but Tyler stills his hand, grinning. “Weren’t you doing something?”

Fred tries to buck against Tyler’s hand, searching for friction, but Tyler’s free hand wraps around his hip and holds him still. “Tyler…” Fred growls, but he dips his hands back into the water and gasps as Tyler rewards him with a flick of the wrist, his thumb sliding over the tip of his cock, lips pressed against his cheek.

Fred tries to concentrate on the dishes soaking in the sink, but it’s difficult when Tyler is forcing his head to the side so he can kiss him properly, tongue dragging along his jawline to dart into his mouth, mapping it out, biting at his lower lip as he works his cock. It is, in fact, hard to concentrate on anything at all that isn’t the feel of Tyler’s long fingers running over the length of his shaft, the hard jut of Tyler’s arousal pressing against his tailbone, the way Tyler’s hand is fisted in his hair, kissing him like he might just be trying to devour him whole.

Fred can’t use his hands if they’re in the sink, but that doesn’t stop him from using the rest of his body to show his appreciation, cocking his hips back to give Tyler something to rut against, lips and tongue and teeth latching onto whatever they can reach, a low groan building in the back of his throat. Tyler wastes no time thrusting against the proffered ass, overheated flesh blazing right through the worn material of Tyler’s jeans; a slow burn permeating so deeply under the skin Fred could feel it in his gut, heat pooling in his groin, dragging a harsh moan from his lips.

The hand buried in Fred’s hair moves lower, roving over his shoulder, sliding down his chest, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Fred arches against Tyler as it makes its way further south, past the hand steadily sliding over his cock to cup his balls, rolling them between his fingers lightly. Tyler is sucking dark marks down Fred’s neck in between pants, trying to match the snap of his hips with the rhythm of his hand – a rhythm akin to a category five hurricane. What he actually manages is something of a counterpoint, and somehow that’s even better, an electric current spreading out just under the skin until Fred can feel each stroke clear down in his toes.

Fred completely forgets all about multitasking, and apparently so does Tyler because he doesn’t say anything when Fred’s hands come up out of the water to clutch tightly at the edge of the sink, leaning his weight forward on his arms when he feels his legs start to shake.

Tyler is flushed clear down past the neckline of his shirt, and he groans low and long and deep, and Fred can feel the distinct wetness seeping through Tyler’s pants as he comes, the hand around his cock moving erratically as Tyler tries to keep the rhythm as he rides out his orgasm, and all it takes is one look at the naked pleasure on Tyler’s face for Fred to tumble after him, Tyler’s name on his lips as he shoots rope after rope of come over Tyler’s fingers and the sink.

Tyler sags against him, Fred’s tenuous grip on the porcelain the only thing holding them up. It takes a few moments of ragged breathing before either of them move, and even when they do, it’s only so Tyler can spin Fred around and kiss him full on the mouth, tender and sated, arms circling his waist to hold him close.

“Shower?” Fred says when Tyler relinquishes his mouth, and Tyler smirks lazily.

“I thought you were washing dishes?” Tyler asks, nothing in his voice actually sounding like a protest.

Fred kneads at Tyler’s ass, a tiny smirk of his own playing at his lips. “There are other things I’d like to wash just now,” he replies suggestively.

Tyler laughs, linking their hands together and pulling Fred from the kitchen, the dishes the furthest thing from either of their minds.


End file.
